Howl
by owlbeaks
Summary: Disclaimer: I don't own the characters that, obviously, you recognize. Because I would have way more money than I do now and I could be an actual recluse. And they'd be lady lovers for real. Be aware of violence, sex, and adult language. Supernatural!AU (not like... the show; like monsters)
1. I See A Bad Moon Rising

There was a soft, silver fog that crept through the forest, hovering only slightly above the ground. It slithered through the trees and wound its way around their thick bases, creeping like the feet it hid. Claws dug into the soil, sifting it, and stirring up rocks and debris in their wake. Silver eyes saw the fire, but it had smelled it long before. No, not the fire. The _prey._ It crouched, fur hidden in the shadows, where the cold moonlight could not reflect on its back, turning it a rippling movement of light in the forest. Its ears pricked to catch the voices, breathing even, blood roaring in its ears and the wind whispered through its fur. Enough with the human voices, enough with the tantalizing smell of their meat and the fantasy of their bones crunching. Enough waiting.

Songs were replaced with screams, cut short by the slow gargle of blood in throats and dimmed by the roar of a beast, sharp teeth gnashing and gnawing at flesh and bone and muscle, a feast. It was content, cleaning its traces and consuming, leaving little to be identified. It had left as soon as it came, belly full and muzzle painted with blood. For it, too, had a home to return to, and sleep to be had.

With a stretch and pop of her back, the woman rolled her neck and splashed cool water on her face, looking up from the basin of water under the tap in her small cabin (if you could call it that, considering its shack-like size) into the dirty mirror with a crooked smirk. Johanna Mason was no stranger to her affliction, and she knew what was nearing. There was one night of every month where she was not so unlike the rest of them in the small Washington town, not so monstrous. And tonight, when the new moon would not shine cold light on her fur, was the night she could stifle her monster just long enough to stay human. She could go to the bar in town, pick up some woman who was going to experiment or was just drunk enough to not care, and she would have her all-too-human fun. Human, she wasn't necessarily unattractive. She had an ovular face, and narrowed gray-green eyes that resembled sage; her hair was chopped short with a pair of kitchen shears and worn in an almost wild look. She had thin lips and a toothy, wolfish (ha, ha) grin. At five-foot-four, she was not remarkably tall, though her body rippled with her subtle muscles earned from years of hard work out in the trees. She carried herself with confidence, and commanded attention. Her father used to tell her that she carried herself a foot taller than she stood, and she relied on that. What stuck out as odd, though, was the limp. Her left leg was twisted slightly, the boned fused wrong in what could be deemed a speedy healing process, as if they hadn't had time to reset properly; the skin was patchy and uneven where it looked like rough daggers had torn at it. But she paid it no mind, because up in the Northwest, it wasn't as if she were going to wear anything but pants anyways.

_It had teeth embedded into her skin that ripped and slashed and thought of nothing but the tang of her blood on its tongue before she embedded her hatchet right between its eyes. And then it happened right in front of her, the fur shrunk back into the pores and the bones cracked, the body twitching, as it realigned itself. And the axe popped out as the scream tore through her body, bubbling out of her throat in a choked sob as her bloodied instrument lay next to the body of a naked man where a wolf once lay. She stared at her mangled leg, praying that he would wake up. Praying it was a nightmare even though the pain was too bad to be anything but real. She killed him, she killed her brother, who was a monster. She covered her mouth with her hands, breath ragged in her terror and her chest rising and falling too quickly. Spots were swimming in front of her, darkness enveloping her as she panicked, and she screamed as her father touched her shoulder, shook her. She couldn't hear him asking over her shrieking and the terror._

She tugged on her jeans and her boots, lacing them carefully, and wrestled into a white undershirt before buttoning a flannel over it. She grabbed her keys off the table and went outside, grabbing her axe with one hand and tugging it free of the split log by her front door, tossing it into the bed of her truck and climbing in. Work, it seemed, escaped no one in this life. Human or not. Lumber was the main source of income here. Men and women in thick boots, in tank tops once the warm flannel lost its morning appeal; their breath hung in the crisp, damp air as the huffs and grunts and occasional warnings rang out. But everyone moved once the creaking started. Everyone knew the routine, and Johanna was no exception. She did her hours, she got her check, she lugged firewood into town for extra cash and kept what she needed for herself. She was respected and she was quiet. Everyone knew she lost her brother, and they paid their respects. Once her father died, too, there was a small service among the folks in the lumberyard but then business, as usual, demanded focus. Although there had been a notice for about six months after his passing about a bear in the area. No coyote could have torn a man apart like that. And no one commented on the limp Johanna stiffly bore since her brother's accident.

Katniss Everdeen slipped onto a stool, leaning against the bar and ordering a whiskey. She had driven from the East Coast on word-of-mouth, praying it was true. Because apparently, stalking these woods, was a wolf of massive proportion. Of course, it could just be a gray, frightening people who posted about it online. Or startling the folks who came to Baltimore on vacation, the ones who sought the Harbor's charm, and she caught snippets of their tales. And, oh, how she wanted them to be true. The olive-skinned woman was a trophy hunter, her passion stemming from her father's obsession. She used a bow, which set her apart from most hunters nowadays, to take her quarry. With a dark braid over her shoulder and a pretty, rounded face with shining gray eyes, it wasn't hard to see that she was pretty. But her weather-worn hands and her well-worn hunting gear showed that she was not a pretty face to be taken lightly; her height of five-nine only adding to her intimidating physique.

After a few bust conversations, she ordered another whiskey with a sigh, drumming her fingers on the wood bar. She stared at the crowd of locals, bored, and frustrated that they would not divulge their knowledge to her. With some sad, twangy country hit on the ancient jukebox, it was a very stereotypical Northwestern bar, she assumed, sipping her whiskey and frowning. She jumped in surprise when the glass slammed down next to her, and she was met with a crooked, toothy smirk. "I haven't seen you here before," the woman chirped in a distinctly feminine, airy voice that caught Katniss by surprise.

"Yeah, I came here to-"

"Hunt. I saw your truck. Must be some pretty intense game with that gear," Johanna purred, narrowing her eyes at Katniss in an almost predatory fashion. "Bear?" A shake of the head, another shot of whiskey. "Cougar? No? What _are_ you after, tourist?"

"I'm looking for a wolf. Heard anything about it?"

There was a soft, silver fog that crept through the forest, hovering only slightly above the ground. It slithered through the trees and wound its way around their thick bases, creeping like the feet it hid. Claws dug into the soil, sifting it, and stirring up rocks and debris in their wake. Silver eyes saw the fire, but it had smelled it long before. No, not the fire. The _prey._ It crouched, fur hidden in the shadows, where the cold moonlight could not reflect on its back, turning it a rippling movement of light in the forest. Its ears pricked to catch the voices, breathing even, blood roaring in its ears and the wind whispered through its fur. Enough with the human voices, enough with the tantalizing smell of their meat and the fantasy of their bones crunching. Enough waiting.

Songs were replaced with screams, cut short by the slow gargle of blood in throats and dimmed by the roar of a beast, sharp teeth gnashing and gnawing at flesh and bone and muscle, a feast. It was content, cleaning its traces and consuming, leaving little to be identified. It had left as soon as it came, belly full and muzzle painted with blood. For it, too, had a home to return to, and sleep to be had.

With a stretch and pop of her back, the woman rolled her neck and splashed cool water on her face, looking up from the basin of water under the tap in her small cabin (if you could call it that, considering its shack-like size) into the dirty mirror with a crooked smirk. Johanna Mason was no stranger to her affliction, and she knew what was nearing. There was one night of every month where she was not so unlike the rest of them in the small Washington town, not so monstrous. And tonight, when the new moon would not shine cold light on her fur, was the night she could stifle her monster just long enough to stay human. She could go to the bar in town, pick up some woman who was going to experiment or was just drunk enough to not care, and she would have her all-too-human fun. Human, she wasn't necessarily unattractive. She had an ovular face, and narrowed gray-green eyes that resembled sage; her hair was chopped short with a pair of kitchen shears and worn in an almost wild look. She had thin lips and a toothy, wolfish (ha, ha) grin. At five-foot-four, she was not remarkably tall, though her body rippled with her subtle muscles earned from years of hard work out in the trees. She carried herself with confidence, and commanded attention. Her father used to tell her that she carried herself a foot taller than she stood, and she relied on that. What stuck out as odd, though, was the limp. Her left leg was twisted slightly, the boned fused wrong in what could be deemed a speedy healing process, as if they hadn't had time to reset properly; the skin was patchy and uneven where it looked like rough daggers had torn at it. But she paid it no mind, because up in the Northwest, it wasn't as if she were going to wear anything but pants anyways.

_It had teeth embedded into her skin that ripped and slashed and thought of nothing but the tang of her blood on its tongue before she embedded her hatchet right between its eyes. And then it happened right in front of her, the fur shrunk back into the pores and the bones cracked, the body twitching, as it realigned itself. And the axe popped out as the scream tore through her body, bubbling out of her throat in a choked sob as her bloodied instrument lay next to the body of a naked man where a wolf once lay. She stared at her mangled leg, praying that he would wake up. Praying it was a nightmare even though the pain was too bad to be anything but real. She killed him, she killed her brother, who was a monster. She covered her mouth with her hands, breath ragged in her terror and her chest rising and falling too quickly. Spots were swimming in front of her, darkness enveloping her as she panicked, and she screamed as her father touched her shoulder, shook her. She couldn't hear him asking over her shrieking and the terror._

She tugged on her jeans and her boots, lacing them carefully, and wrestled into a white undershirt before buttoning a flannel over it. She grabbed her keys off the table and went outside, grabbing her axe with one hand and tugging it free of the split log by her front door, tossing it into the bed of her truck and climbing in. Work, it seemed, escaped no one in this life. Human or not. Lumber was the main source of income here. Men and women in thick boots, in tank tops once the warm flannel lost its morning appeal; their breath hung in the crisp, damp air as the huffs and grunts and occasional warnings rang out. But everyone moved once the creaking started. Everyone knew the routine, and Johanna was no exception. She did her hours, she got her check, she lugged firewood into town for extra cash and kept what she needed for herself. She was respected and she was quiet. Everyone knew she lost her brother, and they paid their respects. Once her father died, too, there was a small service among the folks in the lumberyard but then business, as usual, demanded focus. Although there had been a notice for about six months after his passing about a bear in the area. No coyote could have torn a man apart like that. And no one commented on the limp Johanna stiffly bore since her brother's accident.

Katniss Everdeen slipped onto a stool, leaning against the bar and ordering a whiskey. She had driven from the East Coast on word-of-mouth, praying it was true. Because apparently, stalking these woods, was a wolf of massive proportion. Of course, it could just be a gray, frightening people who posted about it online. Or startling the folks who came to Baltimore on vacation, the ones who sought the Harbor's charm, and she caught snippets of their tales. And, oh, how she wanted them to be true. The olive-skinned woman was a trophy hunter, her passion stemming from her father's obsession. She used a bow, which set her apart from most hunters nowadays, to take her quarry. With a dark braid over her shoulder and a pretty, rounded face with shining gray eyes, it wasn't hard to see that she was pretty. But her weather-worn hands and her well-worn hunting gear showed that she was not a pretty face to be taken lightly; her height of five-nine only adding to her intimidating physique.

After a few bust conversations, she ordered another whiskey with a sigh, drumming her fingers on the wood bar. She stared at the crowd of locals, bored, and frustrated that they would not divulge their knowledge to her. With some sad, twangy country hit on the ancient jukebox, it was a very stereotypical Northwestern bar, she assumed, sipping her whiskey and frowning. She jumped in surprise when the glass slammed down next to her, and she was met with a crooked, toothy smirk. "I haven't seen you here before," the woman chirped in a distinctly feminine, airy voice that caught Katniss by surprise.

"Yeah, I came here to-"

"Hunt. I saw your truck. Must be some pretty intense game with that gear," Johanna purred, narrowing her eyes at Katniss in an almost predatory fashion. "Bear?" A shake of the head, another shot of whiskey. "Cougar? No? What _are_ you after, tourist?"

"I'm looking for a wolf. Heard anything about it?"


	2. No Place For Promises Here

**So Finally, We Agree, No Place For Promises Here**

Silver sunlight crept across the room, chasing shadows off the walls at a crawling pace. Dust swirled in the sharp sliver of light that came through the break in the curtains, dancing slowly to the sound of breathing. It was cold enough that the air bit at exposed skin with tiny, needle-like teeth; an arm reached across the bed to seek the warmth provided by the foreign body. A soft sigh, a tug, and the smaller body was pulled flush against her own.

Johanna stiffened, tense in the other woman's arms. She calmed only slightly upon realizing it was a motel, that shit one in town for poor souls who sought extended stays here for "business" or hunting. It's all there was to do here anyways. The stale, telltale scent of cigarettes and sex hung in the air and were as much a part of the upholstery as the thread at this point. Her muscles were still tense, but she focused on relaxing them minimally against the unfamiliar feel of body contact. She let her eyes flutter shut, recalling the events of last night. Whiskey kisses, all tongue and teeth and fingers everywhere, the room alive with the shifting of sheets and ragged breaths. A small smile curled her lips upwards at the corners, cheeks dimpling. She inched a little closer to the warm body behind her, pressing her back against the front of the other woman, humming softly in content. A hand slid up Johanna's belly, spanning her fingers over the soft, warm flesh. "Mm, morning," said the rough voice, raspy with sleepiness. "Sleep well?" A hint of sarcasm sent a tremble through Johanna's body as Katniss chuckled.

"I'd say so," the younger woman responded, arching her back and stretching in a way that had her torso press closer against Johanna's back. "Hell of a night." She pressed a light kiss to the back of the shorter woman's neck, lips gentle and less insistent than they were last night. Johanna turned slowly, catching Katniss's lips in a kiss. It didn't have the bitter taste of liquor and it didn't have as much bite, casual. "Don't you work today?" The olive skinned woman furrowed her eyebrows, gray eyes lighting up curiously. "You said something about being… something," she drawled, laughing as Johanna snorted and her nose crinkled. Katiss ran her hand down Johanna's arm, gently squeezing the muscles that rippled with her shiver. "Cop?" she teased, earning an eye roll. "Fine. I'll remember."

"Are you sure, Catnip?"

"We already covered this."

"I like it. It's cute."

"It's not cute. Shut up, I'm thinking."

"Jesus, Catpiss, not a morning person?"

"It's like noon."

"Whatever."

A kiss, a laugh.

"You're a lumberjack."

"No shit, brainless. You are literally in a log cabin motel. Surrounded by trees. It's forest themed, for Christ's sake. Of course I'm a lumberjack there's hardly any other jobs here. We make our own time, anyways. I can afford to not go in for one day. They won't even miss me. I'm just another warm body with an axe."

Katniss laughs loudly at Johanna's ranting, rolling onto her back with a sigh. Turning her head to the woman from the bar, all brassy mouth and whiskey tongue, she grinned. "So, tell me about the wolf. Please. No one knows anything about it except it's huge." She was eager and anticipating – she didn't know what she anticipated. But it wasn't the reaction she got. Johanna's face got stony and she rolled over and off the bed, grabbing her clothes and beginning to pull them on. "Jo, please do –"

"You don't get to call me that," Johanna snarled. "You don't know me well enough. At all. We fucked."

"Look, I didn't mean to hit a nerve, I – fuck, ow – I'm sorry." She tripped over the blanket tangled around herself, scrambling to sit up. "You don't have to leave. Please."

Johanna sneered, tugging her shirt over her head. "That _thing_ kills. That is all I know about it. It kills at night, and it maims and it brutalizes. It leaves you with nothing left to love." Her lip curled and she held fast to the back of the uncomfortable, ancient chair pushed under the desk. "That's what I know about it." Her knuckles were a shade of white that would have left the sheets in envy with the few seconds it took for the younger woman to reach her, and she reeled back from the touch. "I don't need your pity. You don't know what you're getting into. You should just go home."

Katniss kept her hand hovering over the ghost of Johanna's, as if it might return. She floundered for words, visibly upset. "I'm sorry. I am. I just… I _need_ to know. If I can kill this thing –"

Johanna threw her head back, laughing sharply. "You _can't kill it_. No one can kill it." Her smile was thin and sick, and her voice was laced with venom. "You don't even know what you're looking for." The following silence hung in the air, broken by the sound of the door slamming shut. It was followed by a muffled _FUCK! _when Johanna realized that she either needed Katniss to drive her, or she needed to walk, back to the bar, where her truck was. She chose the lesser of two evils, jaw set as she shoved her hands into her jeans pockets and began the four mile trek back to the shit bar, where she hoped the owner kept her keys.

"Johanna, come on. I'll drive you." Silence. "Johanna don't be ridiculous it's like five miles. Come on, be an adult about this. I'm _sorry_, okay? I don't understand why everyone is so defensive about this thing. Local legend or something, I get it, I'll drop it." The crunch of tires on the rough pavement stopped as the shorter woman climbed into the passenger side of Katniss's truck, slamming the door and leaning against the door, looking out the window. They drove in silence, the only sound coming from the purr of the engine and the sound of the tires and Katniss's hunting equipment bouncing in the bed. As she killed the engine, pulled next to Johanna's truck, she turned to the older woman with a sigh. "Am I going to see you again?"

"No promises. There's no room for promises in this town." She leaned over and kissed Katniss roughly, grinning against her lips before jumping out of the truck and sauntering into the bar. And Katniss watched her go, brow raised at the extra swing of her hips, and then she let her eyes trail down to a limp she hadn't noticed before.

It was increasingly frustrating. Every time she got a new name with a new story, or slightly warped previous story, she was sent elsewhere. Katniss was back where she started. Word of mouth, everyone avoiding the question and giving her stories; but stories only got you so far if you wanted a wolf dead. She sat on a bench outside of the post office, dropping her head into her hands and rubbing her face with exhaustion. She'd been at it for a day and a half. The last _useful_ thing she had gotten was from a gruff man called Blight at the butcher's shop, who looked meaner than a bear. "Killed the Mason boys," he had told her, running a massive hand over his buzzed hair with an uncomfortable grimace. "Dustin said it went after the girl. His boy tried to get to her but it fucked her up real bad." His face twisted, looking disapprovingly at Katniss as she scrawled out notes in an easy, swooping hand. "Boy tripped on his own damn axe. Dusty went out one night; found 'him a day later. Poor bastard torn apart. Girl had to identify the last of her family. Cops said it was a bear but… ain't no fuckin' bear can do that to a person. Not someone who knew those woods like Mason." His eyes were misted and his jaw set.

If Katniss had learned one thing about this town, it was that everyone knew everyone. It was one of those quaint towns where they all relied on each other and, apparently, the death of the Mason boys was the most widely-know horror story. And as far as she knew, the daughter was still alive. But she had no idea who she was, and no one was telling her. She had gotten a sympathetic look from some woman on her porch, whom after being questioned about the wolf, had simply placed her hand on Katniss's arm and shook her head softly. "You really shouldn't go fussing with things like that, dear. Not something that can do all that." Her kind eyes struck Katniss with a pang of homesickness, reminding her of her own mother back home.

"Ma'am, if you don't mind," Katniss blurted, as the woman had risen and was getting ready to head back into her home. "I only have one more question. The girl, the daughter… who is she?"

Kind eyes grew somber, and the woman sighed. "Oh, honey. Don't make that poor girl relive those times. Two funerals in a week; she's got no one left. Let her be." The door shut behind her with a gentle _click_ and Katniss sighed despondently, trudging back to her car and slipping into the driver's seat. She let the sounds of soft country music crackle through her speakers with far more energy than she had, herself, and the bumping on the road jostle her in her seat on the drive back to the motel. She grabbed her notes, locked up her gear, and headed back to her room to flop onto the uncomfortable bed, sighing in content when she hit the lumpy mattress.

"Thank god," she groaned, eyes heavy with exhaustion. It didn't take long for her to fall asleep, sprawled on top of the sheets and fully clothed, but it felt like it took even less time to be started awake by a knock at the door. "I'm coming," she called, voice raspy, rolling off the bed and groaning. Throwing open the door, eyes narrowed to see and hair in disarray, she blinked a few times to take in the sight of Johanna leaning against the jamb with a bottle of whiskey.

"I can't stay," she rushed, glancing anxiously at the darkening Northwestern sky. She wasn't dressed nearly appropriately enough for the cold air, in just jeans and a flannel, but she shoved the bottle at Katniss with a weak smile. "I have to go take care of something, but it's a peace offering. I'll help you drink it tomorrow." She flashed her usual predatory smile and threw Katniss a cheeky wink, jogging to her truck and swinging herself up into the driver's seat. She waved out the window and honked twice, tearing off onto the road. And against her better judgment (which she wrestled with, really, she did), Katniss grabbed her keys and locked the door to her motel room behind her, getting into her own truck and bringing the engine back to life. Whatever it was Johanna was doing was none of her concern. But she was going to make it her concern, because she was nosy and she had questions that needed answered. And Johanna, she thought, could answer them.


	3. I Smile at the Moon, Death is on my Face

_She was stumbling through the woods. Mist fogged her vision, making it hard to see. She could feel hot breath on the back of her neck and she threw herself forward. "Please!" she cried, beating against the door of a cabin, the only one in these woods. "Please, let me in!" Her throat was dry, her hands were bloodied as she clawed and banged against the door..._

_Knock, knock..._

The knocking is what woke her. She shot up, breathing ragged and she took a few moments to collect herself. Katniss grumbled, answering the door with bleary eyes. "J –" she was cut off by a pair of lips crashing into hers roughly. There was no bite of whiskey but she felt the sting anyways, unable to suppress a groan. "Good morning," she rasped, leaning her forehead against the other woman's. It had been several encounters later that they decided whatever they had was worth keeping around for now; several afternoons or nights of tossing and tearing and swearing and fucking. They were all teeth and hands and moans and shaking the bed; it wasn't making love by any stretch of the imagination but it sated them both. "It's been a while," she teased, and Johanna fixed her with a look.

"It's been like a day and a half."  
"Sorry, I forgot a girl wasn't allowed to miss another."  
"Don't start."  
"I know we're not _exclusive_ but you could at least pretend you're happy to see me."  
"Katniss –"  
"No. Whatever. You're right. Just… come here."

Johanna didn't have to be told twice.

Worn leather boots hardly made a sound as Katniss crept through the woods, a thick fog muffling her footsteps more than usual. She was careful not to inhale too sharply; the cold air burned her lungs like fire inside. It was about two in the morning, now, she guessed, and she had been out in the woods all night. Every now and again – every five miles or more – she'd see the odd cabin. There had only been two, but it fascinated her that folks would choose to live so far removed from the town, so surrounded by these woods.

She paused as a certain, unmistakable smell hit her like a brick wall: _death_. It was an awful smell, several days old, and her stomach reeled as she looked for the source. _There!_ A deer, maybe a week past its death date, lay broken and open by a tree. She tugged her scarf over her nose and gagged; it was an awful smell, the cavern of its ribs gaping in a yawn that left entrails spilling out towards her. And unfortunately, it was the snort that brought her out of her disgust. A black bear was tossing its head, stomping into the ground. Katniss reached back for an arrow and it roared, an angry, bubbling sort of grumble that shook the leaves around them, forcing them to rattle dryly against each other. "Shit," she breathed, fingers shaking. Hunting was easy – they didn't see you coming. Trying to defend yourself against a bear who thought you wanted its scavenged meal wasn't as easy, not as precise. There was a lot of fumbling involved, it seemed, and her blood ran thick and slow, icy in her veins and weighing her down as she stumbled back, hitting a tree with her shoulder blades, and she winced. Cornering yourself against a bear was _not_ a good idea. Ever.

Another roar sounded from the woods, and both she and the bear swung their heads towards the noise. She gasped, suddenly wishing she hadn't left her handgun in the truck. _Stupid, so fucking stupid!_ she thought, wildly and in passing, as it barreled into sight. A gray wolf, massive and ragged, slid on leaves into the immediate area, giving a warning snarl to the bear. This wasn't a territory fight, it occurred to Katniss as the wolf paced in front of her, this was about her. She felt the crash before she saw it. The wolf launched itself at the bear, who swatted it away with another roar. She quietly slipped around the tree and ran, as fast her legs would carry her. It felt like a nightmare, where your fears are nipping at your heels and you can't get away. There was no way she was getting out of this alive. Roars and crashes, the sound of crunching and a wet gurgle behind her spiked her adrenaline and she dove behind a cabin – more of a shack, really. She must have gone at least a mile, but she couldn't remember. Her legs, her lungs burned. She heaved for breath, opting to suffocate behind her thick scarf rather than to make the gasping noises her lungs begged for. She shut her eyes, shaking, willing herself to stop when she heard an ethereal howling that chilled her to the bones. She choked back a sob, listening to the uneven sound of paws rushing for her.

She was no longer the hunter. She was the hunted.


End file.
